


The Wind’s Icy Bite

by SerpentineJ



Category: Galavant (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:44:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3879157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentineJ/pseuds/SerpentineJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard is afraid of thunderstorms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wind’s Icy Bite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grigiocuore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grigiocuore/gifts).



> Requested by my good friend griggy. :D

The thunder rumbles, clouds dark and menacing, hanging low in the sky. A flash of lightning splits the sky from afar, sending the sharp crackle of electricity through the humid, charged air, and Galavant curses as it begins to pour.

“Damnit!” He shouts, quickly getting drenched in cold rain and whipping, icy wind. “Richard!”

He struggles around the deck, hands rubbing raw on the thick ropes that hold the mainsail to its place strapped to the post, furled in by the pirates mere minutes before the storm began. Last he’d seen of the King, he had been standing near the helm, eyes wide and hair ruffled from the crisp, salty sea breeze, enchanted by the shadows the clouds cast across the water.

“King Richard!” Galavant can feel his voice growing hoarse. “Son of a bitch!”

The knight finally makes his way to the front of the ship, slipping and sliding from the torrential downpour slicking the deck, confounding his senses. He searches desperately with his eyes through the various lashed-down tools and equipment for the ship, hoping to catch a glance of silver hair or pale skin.

The voice comes from a small niche in the ship’s body. A broom closet, more like a cupboard, for stashing the cleaning supplies for the poop deck (and Richard had laughed so hard when he heard that one, Galavant had been slightly concerned the King would break a rib from a joke about fecal matter.)

“N-no…”

“Richard!” He scrambles for the handle, fingers fumbling, water making things much, much more difficult than they need to be-

The door pops open and the King tumbles out; apparently he had been sitting on the floor, knees to his chest, back to the wall, soaked in rain and looking like a terrified, drowned rat, typically neat velvet drenched. His teeth chatter and he murmurs, still hugging himself.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Gal can’t help the desperate note that creeps into his voice: does Richard have hypothermia? Is he sick? Why does he look so petrified? “Richard, it’s me.”

The other looks up and a recognition flashes in his eyes: his arms release in a flash and come up to clutch around Galavant’s waist, trembling, burying his head in Gal’s stomach.

The boat pitches and rolls, wind moaning, and Galavant somehow manages to maneuver them into his cabin, out of the rain.

“Richard?” He says, gently, wiping his damp hair from his forehead. “Are you alright?”

“’M-m fine.” The king stutters, beginning to warm, but he’s obviously not alright: his skin is clammy and cold to the touch, and he’s still shivering. 

Galavant takes his hand. “I’m going to take off your tunic, Richard.”

“Wh-why?” He’s startled, eyes darting up to lock with Gal’s. 

“They’re soaked, and you’ll catch a cold like this.” The knight purposefully keeps his tone steady and soft, constant, so not to fright the other. “We’ll take those wet ones off and wrap you in a blanket, alright?”

Thunder rumbles overhead. A clap shakes the teeth in Gal’s head and the bones in his body.

Richard lets out a high-pitched squeak: before Galavant can do anything but gasp, he’s on the furthest edge of his bed, shivering, eyes frightful.

“No, no, no.” He says through chattering teeth. “No.”

“Richard?” Galavant slowly approaches him. “Richard, look at me. Look at me- just breathe, okay?” He murmurs, taking the king’s hand again, smiling slightly when the other’s shoulders relax ever so slightly. “You’re alright. You’re safe.”

He shudders. “G-Gal.”

“I’m here.”

~~~~~~

“I’m not kicking you out of your own bed, Galavant!”

“Richard, I told you. I’m sleeping in the chair. You’ve got a cold, and you have to rest properly!”

The older huffs childishly, folding his arms. “It’s not good manners.”

Gal laughs. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“Get in.”

The knight does a double take. “What?”

“I’m not kicking you out of your own bloody bed! If I’m sleeping here, we’re sharing it.”

With that, Richard blushes and turned around, snuggling deeper into the ridiculous amount of blankets Gal had cocooned him in, facing the wall to hide his red cheeks.

Galavant smiles helplessly and pulls his leather gear over his head, tossing it on the desk nearby.

**Author's Note:**

> Want more Richavant? Join us! richavant.tumblr.com


End file.
